


(Once More Unto) The Breach

by chewysun



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 04:30:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1415182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysun/pseuds/chewysun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s been working up and down a twelve-mile stretch of the Wall for eight months when Marshal Argent finds him on a Tuesday. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>or </p><p>a Pacific Rim fusion AU where Stiles's Raleigh meets Derek's Mako on a rainy day in Hong Kong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Once More Unto) The Breach

He’s been working up and down a twelve-mile stretch of the Wall for eight months when Marshal Argent finds him on a Tuesday. The wind is downright biting, and it feels like his cheeks are way past nipped-rosy and way into frostbite-blue. Just a regular day in fuck-me-it’s-cold winter in Alaska.

 

“Stilinski,” the marshal intones, all gravitas and upright, stand-tall bearing. Ah yes. Stiles has _so_ not missed that gruff voice. He cocks a brow and feels his lips tilt into a smirk. Argent looks good for all that he’s struggling to keep the Jaeger program from going under.

 

“ _Hey_ , Marshal. Didn’t expect to see you up here. Welcome to Alaska.” Stiles flourishes a hand and almost trips over his boots, giving the marshal a winning smile. Argent just huffs - Stiles is choosing to believe it’s a _fond_ huff. He definitely heard fondness buried under the multitude of grumpy layers, he’s like, seventy-three percent certain.

 

And then the unthinkable happens, because after everything, the kaiju, his home, his mom, his dad (his _dad,_ ripped away before he can even comprehend what’s happening, he’s _ripped away_ ) – he gets pulled back in.

 

* * *

 

They’re in the chopper for something like ten hours, the beat of the blades sounding surreal in the darkness. Hong Kong greets him like a distant relative, with its rain, oppressive heat, and the fact that he doesn’t actually go into town. He knows the city is a mess of burning neon, quick and bright like fireflies; the Shatterdome, in turn, is rusted red and brown, and chugging along more out of spite than anything else.

 

Stiles loves it.

 

He’s all for the spunky underdog, and the Shatterdome looks like it would be scrappy in a fight. He can relate. And thinking about Hong Kong is all well and good, but then they’re coming off the chopper and greeted by the single most attractive person Stiles has seen in his life. Good god _damn_ , the man is a walking, talking embodiment of all that could be right with the world, dark hair, light eyes, bulky muscle that’s noticeable even under the heavy coat he’s using to shield from the rain, but then, _but then_ , Stiles looks closer and he’s got the marshal’s brooding brow that looks like it’s carrying the weight of several worlds, and he thought only shoulders could do that. Apparently this guy wants to break literary clichés as well as the laws of human hotness.

 

 

* * *

 

Derek Hale, as Stiles soon learns, is absolutely as broody as his eyebrows suggested. He’s also gone through ranger training.

 

“So, what’s your simulator score?” Stiles asks, standing in the doorway of his new quarters. Derek’s chest puffs out almost imperceptibly, and Stiles fights not to coo out loud.

 

“Fifty-one drops, fifty-one kills,” Derek says. Stiles is so far beyond impressed, it might as well be Timbuktu, and he says as much. He’s pretty sure Derek blushes, and now he’s actually trying to pummel his inner voice into shutting the hell up because Derek could drop him like he was nothing.

 

It’s only when he crosses the open doorway after Derek’s left, almost all the way out of his shirt, that he spies Derek across the way looking at him like he’s been struck with a metal two-by-four. Derek, caught in the act of checking out Stiles’s sweet, sweet bod, quickly shuts his door, but not before Stiles can send a sly little grin his way.

 

This whole thing might not turn out so bad after all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He lied. This could totally be terrible.

 

Every single candidate he’s been put up against has fallen under his strikes within five or six moves, and he’s frustrated as all hell. He _knows_ who should be his partner, he can even see it in Argent’s face that he knows too. Derek’s the one he needs, and he’s been progressively getting more agitated at Argent’s side with each new idiot he apparently “hand-picked”.

 

“What, dude, _what._ Why are you doing that?” Stiles huffs at Derek, who raises one of his magnificent eyebrows in return. “That thing, with your face, why are you doing it?”

 

Derek rolls his eyes. “Because you could be putting these guys down two moves earlier.”

 

Stiles twitches. He should not find this kind of challenge hot, but damn it, he does. It is _on_.

 

“So why don’t you come down here and show me?” is probably not the greatest line Stiles has ever delivered, but he’ll see if it flies.

 

After that it’s a bunch of scrunching eyebrows between Derek and the marshal, before Derek comes down to the mat, and then? Then it gets _awesome_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Well, okay, it was awesome, and then it got a little less awesome because Derek wasn’t chosen to be his partner, but then he actually _was_ , so it was awesome again (there was even flirting! Hurrah!) until right this second when they’re in Gipsy’s cockpit and Stiles’s ghosts decide to take a chunk out of him.

 

_\- the cockpit is washed blue and blaring red, his arm is useless useless he can’t get over the rushing pain but_

 

_“Stiles, listen to me!”_

_there’s his dad, memories of his mother floating so close_

_“Stiles, pl-“_

_and then he’s gone gone gone gonegonegonegonegon –_

“Stiles!”

 

Danny’s shouting in his ear, his gut twisting with the aftereffects of the memory.

 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he reassures shakily. “I’m good.” He looks over to Derek and feels the blood drain from his face. “Derek. Derek? Hey, stay with me – don’t chase the RABIT, come on, stay with m-“ and then they’re in Derek’s memories with fire and smoke and screams and it _hurts_.

 

 

Stiles comes back from chasing Derek with Derek in his arms. He doesn’t want to let go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Understandably, they’re benched. Doesn’t mean Stiles doesn’t fight like hell to get them in the game.

 

“It was my fault, don’t blame this on Derek. I dragged him into it, but we were good, you saw that, you know it’s true,” Stiles pleads, sitting in the marshal’s cavernous office. Derek is stiff beside him, and hasn’t made eye contact since they shakily climbed out of Gipsy an hour before.

 

“That’s enough,” Argent says, curt.

 

Derek stands; Stiles can only just see a fine tremor running through him as he stares resolutely forward. “Permission to be dismissed, sir.” Derek nearly flies out of the room after a short nod from Argent, only looking back once when Stiles calls after him.

 

“I know you want to protect him, but you’re only holding him back,” Stiles says, fists clenching at his side, Derek’s memories flaring

 

_Derek, small, clutching a sneaker_

_knees scraped bloody_

_running_

_hiding_

_screaming then light and quiet and a man climbing out of a giant machine_

 

in the front of his mind.

 

“You don’t know anything,” Argent growls, brushing past Stiles into the corridor.

 

“I know you rescued him – just wait, marshal, wait!” and then Stiles is trying to pull Argent back which is a huge, _huge_ mistake. Stiles has never been more afraid in his life. He feels lucky to have left with his face intact.

 

So. Still benched.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There’s an awkward moment in the mess hall, with the staring and the quick hush because they’re all a bunch of judgmental assholes, but Derek’s there across the way. They eat on a scaffold overlooking Gipsy’s repairs.

 

“I should’ve warned you; first drifts are tough.”

 

Derek shrugs, a peek of a smile dimpling into his cheek. “Could’ve been worse.”

 

“Yeah, you could’ve accessed the spank bank, and I haven’t known you _nearly_ long enough to share that. I need at least two more days with you.” Derek rolls his eyes, Stiles just laughs.

 

* * *

 

“We lost Cherno Alpha,” Danny says, voice hollow. He’s staring at the holoscreen, looking as lost as everyone feels. “Striker Eureka is still sitting dead in the water.”

 

Stiles pushes through to the front of the crowd, face set and determined, Derek at his side. “Gipsy’s analog – we can get out there.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> BUHM BUHM BUUUUHM. fighting etc. after the break.
> 
> anywho, re-watched pacific rim like two weeks ago and couldn't get it out of my head that derek would make an excellent mako like lbr so of COURSE stiles had to be raleigh
> 
> duh
> 
> so, chapter two to be out soon! ish. kind of. hopefully? 
> 
> come hang out on [tumblr](http://www.prettycoral.tumblr.com)!


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